


Mirror, Mirror

by ProofOfConcept, wilddragonflying



Series: Collaborations [74]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Past Lives, Drug Use, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 20:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21380065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProofOfConcept/pseuds/ProofOfConcept, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: "Is he still trying to work that divination spell?" Eliot asks as he and Margo breeze into the Cottage, laden with shopping bags. They peer curiously at Quentin, sitting in the middle of the living room floor, surrounded by text books, a mirror on the ground in front of him, and wearing a look of intense concentration. Eliot clucks in sympathy. "Poor baby."Julia, who has been watching from the safety of the couch for most of the afternoon, turns to point at Eliot. "Shush!" she hisses. "Don't be mean; you'll throw him off.""He wouldnever," Margo drawls, and Eliot shoots her a sharp look."Bambi."
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, William "Penny" Adiyodi/Kady Orloff-Diaz/Julia Wicker
Series: Collaborations [74]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/41362
Comments: 2
Kudos: 126





	Mirror, Mirror

"Is he still trying to work that divination spell?" Eliot asks as he and Margo breeze into the Cottage, laden with shopping bags. They peer curiously at Quentin, sitting in the middle of the living room floor, surrounded by text books, a mirror on the ground in front of him, and wearing a look of intense concentration. Eliot clucks in sympathy. "Poor baby."

Julia, who has been watching from the safety of the couch for most of the afternoon, turns to point at Eliot. "Shush!" she hisses. "Don't be mean; you'll throw him off."

"He would _never,_" Margo drawls, and Eliot shoots her a sharp look.

"_Bambi._"

Quentin huffs, looking up from the mirror on the floor in front of him to glare at Margo and Eliot. "This is _stupid,_ but it's also worth ten percent of my final grade, so would you _please _listen to Jules?"

"What is it you're even trying to see?" Margo asks.

Quentin runs his fingers through his hair, tugging harshly at it. "I'm supposed to use the mirror to see myself eating dinner last night. It's supposed to record whatever it shows me for Professor T to grade."

"Oh, that assignment," Margo says. "We had some fun with that one, didn't we, El?"

Eliot grins. "From what I remember, we didn't exactly eat dinner the night before." He clears his throat. "Is there anything we can help with?"

Quentin gives them a dry look. "I figured you guys might have had something to do with the 'only dinner, anything else is an automatic F,' comment she had. And no, thanks. I just..." He blows out a gusty breath. “I need some peace and quiet. I’m taking this shit upstairs.”

"All right," Eliot says, stepping back from the door. "We'll be in Margo's room if you need us."

Quentin waves a distracted hand, already busy gathering his things. He retreats to his room and spreads the books and his notes out across his bed, carefully laying the mirror down, reflective side up, on the bed in front of himself. Quentin runs through the poppers and tuts he needs for the spell again and again, trying to make sure he’s got the movements perfect before he feeds a spark of magic and - 

And nothing. _Again._

Quentin loses track of time as he tries again and again to make the spell work, but the mirror stubbornly refuses to show him anything other than his current frustrated face. Swearing, Quentin double- and triple-checks his tuts, his pronunciation... The spell should _work,_ why isn’t it working?

He’s vaguely aware of the noise from downstairs ramping up; the night’s party must be in full swing by now. Quentin tries not to let himself get distracted by the thought of how good a strong drink sounds right now as he tries one more time - 

There’s a loud _bang_ from downstairs, followed by a crash, and Quentin jumps, his pronunciation stutters and his control slips, and an arc of magic ricochets off of the mirror and hits him in the chest, right below his breastbone. It knocks him backwards, and Quentin can’t _breathe_ for a moment like the magic also knocked the breath from his lungs. 

When Quentin finally pushes himself upright, his chest is still sore, and he decides that’s probably enough for the night. His movements are careful as he clears everything away and gets ready for bed, and he must be more exhausted than he thought because by the time he slides under the covers, he’s fighting to keep his eyes open.

Quentin dreams that night, but he can’t remember any of it when he wakes the next morning. A glance in the mirror on the back of his door shows a purple bruise on his chest, and Quentin groans, unable to resist poking at it. Unsurprisingly, it hurts. He winces and makes himself get dressed and head downstairs, where he can smell freshly-made coffee.

”I fucking love you, whoever made this,” Quentin groans, fumbling for a mug in the cabinet and pouring himself a cup. “Come to Papa, sweet sweet caffeine.”

Eliot, cradling his own mug at the kitchen table, chuckles. "Rough night?"

Quentin downs a solid half of his mug and refills it before he answers Eliot. “You could say that,” he sighs, wandering over until he can sit next to Eliot. “I hate divination, have I mentioned that?”

"Several times," Eliot says, a teasing smile on his face. "Still didn't manage that spell?"

”No, but I did manage to give myself one hell of a bruise,” Quentin grumbles, taking another sip and scooting his chair closer to Eliot so he can lean against Eliot’s free arm. “Stupid mirror.”

Eliot's laughter is warm, as is the kiss he drops to the crown of Quentin's head. Of course, that's the exact moment that Alice chooses to walk into the kitchen.

She gives them both an unreadable look and breezes right past them. "Good morning," she offers, almost as an afterthought.

Quentin straightens, cheeks flushing. “Morning,” he says, busying himself with his coffee so he doesn’t have to look at Alice; things have been weird between them for a while now, but Quentin really doesn’t know how to fix it. “Er. How’s it going?”

"Fine," Alice says coolly. "I aced that divination spell for Professor T. Did I hear you talking about it?"

”Yeah.” Quentin clears his throat. “It’s been giving me some trouble, but so has the whole course, so, uh. No surprise there.”

"We were actually just talking about how difficult I found that class last year," Eliot says, a slight edge to his voice. "Divination is an acquired taste, I think. I never got the knack for it."

”It’s all so wishy-washy,” Quentin sighs. “If you’re not concentrating on _just_ the right thing...”

"I wish I could sympathise," Alice says. "I thought it was easy."

Eliot's jaw clenches. "Well, we can't all be perfect, dear.”

Without thinking about it, Quentin lays a hand on Eliot’s knee, lets it slide until the tips of his fingers are just barely curved around the inside before he squeezes lightly. “It’s fine, El,” he says quietly. 

Eliot actually jumps, and Alice watches the whole thing with so much judgement in her eyes that she frankly rivals Margo. "Well," she says, "I'm going to leave you two to whatever the hell that is, and go work on Professor T's follow-up assignment. Have a nice day, boys."

Eliot watches her go with a raised eyebrow. Quentin still hasn't moved his hand. "Has she always been that spicy?" he asks.

"Yep," Quentin says, downing the last of his coffee. He moves to get up, and seems to finally realize where his hand is. "Uh."

Eliot looks at him. "Everything okay, Q?"

Quentin’s gaze snaps up to Eliot’s, and he swallows. “Yeah,” he says, grateful it doesn’t come out as a squeak as he does his best to snatch his hand back without actually snatching it back. “Yeah, I just - I’m just worn out, y’know, mentally? From that divination… thing.”

"Give it a rest for today," Eliot suggests. "Hang out with me and Margo."

Quentin worries his lip for a moment before nodding. "Alright. That was really the only homework I had to work on for right now, anyway."

Eliot grins, delighted. "Excellent," he says. "Finish your coffee and get dressed. Margo will want to take you out."

Quentin abruptly looks like he's regretting this decision, but he just nods and downs the rest of his coffee. 

* * *

As predicted, Margo insists they go out for the day. They just do lunch and a little bit of sightseeing that they've done a hundred times before, and they have a perfectly pleasant day, but without giving him advance warning and time to prepare for it, it's a lot for Quentin. He leans on Eliot, both figuratively and literally, for most of the day, but Eliot doesn't mind. He knows from experience how overwhelmed Quentin can get when he's forced to be social, especially while he's running on caffeine and days-old stress.

They all know this, but Margo still fixes Eliot with the strangest look as soon as they've bid Quentin goodnight and he's disappeared into his bedroom. "What?" Eliot asks, frowning. "What have I done now?"

"Quentin seemed _very _attached to you today," Margo says, still looking at Eliot with that strange expression. 

"You know he gets worse when he's stressed," Eliot says. "This divination thing is really kicking his ass."

”Uh-huh. El, honey. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’d fucked him again.” Margo raises one eyebrow. “You _didn’t_, right? Because if you did and you didn’t tell me...”

Eliot rolls his eyes. "Of course I didn't fuck him again," he says. "Once was quite enough."

”_Right,_” Margo scoffs. “So all of that today was, what? Just his anxiety?”

"I guess," Eliot says. "What else could it be?"

”He’s been plenty overwhelmed before, but he’s never stuck to you like a burr before,” Margo points out. “I’m just saying, something’s off with him. I heard Alice bitching about you two this morning, too.”

"That's because Alice is a bitch," Eliot sniffs. "I don't know what Q ever saw in her."

Margo hums thoughtfully. "She's so... uptight. Getting those kinds of nerds to relax can be _very _rewarding, and you know it. But my point is, Alice was bitching to herself about you being all... _cute _in the kitchen this morning."

Eliot shakes his head. "I was defending Quentin, because she was being all snotty about how easy she found the assignment."

"That wasn't what she was calling cute, sweetie."

Eliot sighs, exasperated. "Then what are you getting at?"

”Apparently you two were _canoodling_ in the kitchen this morning,” Margo says archly. “Was that just anxiety as well?”

"We were not canoodling," Eliot insists. "She's just a petty bitch."

Margo hums, clearly not entirely convinced. "Well, I'm only repeating what I've heard. It might be something to think about, even if Quinn is just being petty."

Eliot rolls his eyes. "Whatever," he says. "I'm going to bed."

* * *

"Well," Quentin says, letting Julia's door fall shut with a _bang _behind him before throwing himself across the foot of her bed. "The infamous Quentin Makepeace Coldwater luck strikes again."

Julia raises an eyebrow. "What have you done this time?"

"Managed to somehow create a link to a past life, which is apparently a thing that exists," Quentin says glumly. 

Julia actually laughs. "What?" she asks. "How?"

"You know that fucking mirror spell I've been having trouble with? Apparently I fucked up the pronunciation and tuts enough to do a different spell, but poorly."

"So what does that mean?" Julia asks, still smiling. "What did you do instead?"

"Gave myself the world's weirdest case of deja vu," Quentin sighs. "Instead of like, merging the memories from that life with this life, apparently I set up what Professor T called a 'wonky cable connection.'"

"Give me some examples to work with, Q," Julia says. "I can't decide if this is funny or awful. What do you remember?"

Quentin scrubs a hand over his face. "I remember working on the mosaic from the Fillory books," he says after a long moment. "Being frustrated when it refused to accept any of our solutions the first year, but... We kept at it."

Julia's jaw drops. "_Fillory?_" she demands. "Fillory is _real?_ Tell me everything! What was it like? Who was the 'we'?"

Quentin grins, his gaze turning distant. "It was... just as beautiful as Martin Chatwin described in the books. So goddamn _magical,_ even the air feels different." His grin fades into a thoughtful frown as he addresses Julia's last question. "I don't remember everything, and a lot of it is just... vague impressions? But Eliot was there. He wasn't _called _Eliot, I think his name was... Hale? Mine was something different, too. But yeah, we were trying to solve the mosaic and we spent... I don't know how long, exactly, but it seems like we spent _decades _trying to solve the mosaic."

"Did you solve it?" Julia asks, her voice awed and breathy.

Quentin bites his lip, doesn't answer immediately. "Only after he died," he says quietly. "I - I do remember that. Burying him, finding the golden tile that was the key. Giving it to Jane, because I was so old, I had no use for it, and we never wanted to solve it for the treasure, anyway."

Julia blinks. "Q," she says. "Were you and Eliot _together?_"

Quentin stares up at the ceiling and nods. "We - I was also married to a woman, Arielle. But the three of us were... We were all together, but I can't remember specifics. We had a kid, though. A son." He blows out a harsh breath. "Hale and whoever the fuck I was had a son. Not me and Eliot."

Understanding finally dawns on Julia's face. "You're having trouble separating the two," she realises.

"Yes," Quentin says miserably. "It wouldn't be so bad if Eliot and Hale didn't look almost exactly the same, but they _do _and it's fucking with my head."

"Have you told him?" Julia asks.

Quentin snorts. "Tell him what? 'Hey, so, I fucked up a spell and gave myself some past life memories where I'm married to your doppelganger. Oh, no, it's not a problem except for how I've had a ridiculous crush on you since I saw you lounging on the sign my first day.' Yeah, that'd go over well."

Julia shrugs. "I've thought you should tell him that last part for months."

Quentin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because _that_ would go well. You know what happened last year, telling Eliot that I actually have _feelings_ for him would make things really awkward at best.”

"I wouldn't be so sure," Julia says.

Quentin gives Julia a suspicious look. "What makes you say that?"

"I just think you're underestimating your charms," Julia says. "You're a catch, Q, and Eliot really cares about you."

"And _I_ think you're overestimating how much Eliot cares about me," Quentin counters. "We're friends, but... You remember how awkward things were after the three of us wound up in bed after he and Margo tried to cheer me up with alcohol."

"From what I remember, Eliot needed some cheering up, too," Julia points out. "And he turned to you."

"He turned to me _and Margo,_" Quentin corrects. "And then avoided me like the plague for two days afterward."

"Come on, Q. You were doing some avoiding of your own."

Quentin grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a complaint about bringing logic into the conversation. "Whatever, I'll - I'll get a handle on it. It'll be fine, and El will never need to know." Quentin, of course, has no idea _how _he'll 'get a handle on it,' but the alternative is just too daunting to even think about. "Want to watch some trashy TV?"

Julia, goddess that she is, graciously allows the change in subject. 

* * *

The latest party at the Physical Cottage is fully underway by the time Julia and Penny arrive; Julia catches Penny's grimace as he holds the door for her, and guesses that the party's reached the stage where most people's mental wards have started to slip. She offers him a sympathetic smile, leading the way through the throng until she finds Kady tucked into a corner, delivering Penny to her and smiling as the two immediately curl up together in Kady's armchair, Penny stealing Kady's drink without hesitation. Julia sets off in search of Quentin, but finds Margo first, by the entrance to the kitchen. "Have you seen Q?" Julia asks, pitching her voice to carry over the noise of the party. 

"Over by the bar," Margo answers. "Talking to Eliot."

Julia glances over; Quentin and Eliot are, indeed, by the bar and talking. Quentin is leaning against the end while Eliot is mixing drinks, and Julia can't help but smile at the look on his face. "Don't know why I didn't look there," she laughs. "How's Eliot been? I haven't been around for a few days, been busy with classwork."

Margo raises an eyebrow. "Fine," she says, "why?"

Julia shrugs. "I can't ask after one of my friends?"

"You could ask him yourself," Margo says.

"And interrupt that weird not-flirting thing they've got going on?" Julia asks, gesturing at where Eliot is presenting Quentin a new drink with a flourish, and Quentin is laughing, shoving at Eliot's shoulder. 

Margo frowns. "They do seem more friendly than usual," she allows.

"More than they have since the end of last semester," Julia hums. "I think it's cute."

Margo watches for another moment, taking in the way Quentin leans towards Eliot, his hand lingering on Eliot's arm each time he reaches out to him. "Do you think--" she begins. "Is Q _flirting_ with him?"

"I - That's what it looks like," Julia says, clearly surprised. "Isn't it usually the other way around?"

"Eliot doesn't know what to do with himself," Margo notices with some delight. "Is Quentin drunk or something?"

"Unless he's been pounding mojitos, he shouldn't be," Julia says slowly. In direct contrast to Margo, Julia looks _concerned. _

Margo sees it on her face, and she narrows her eyes. "Is something going on?" she asks.

”Nothing bad,” Julia hastens to clarify. “Q’s just... been in a weird mood lately.”

"No shit," Margo says. "Do you... think it'll last?"

Julia bites her lip. “I don’t know,” she says honestly. “I know he’s been ass over teakettle for Eliot for a while - and I know you know, which is the only reason I’m saying anything - but he’s convinced it won’t happen.”

"It won't if he stops acting like this," Margo says. "Eliot's been obsessing for over a year. The poor boy needs some encouragement."

Julia glances back at Eliot and Quentin - and does a double take. “Encouragement like Quentin pulling him onto the dance floor?”

Margo follows her gaze, and her eyes widen. "Holy crap. We've slipped into some kind of alternate universe."

Julia's laughter is vaguely hysterical. "Something like that," she agrees, taking in the stunned expression on Eliot's face as Quentin leads him to the dance floor without a trace of self-consciousness. 

They watch the two of them dance with mounting fascination until Quentin looks over and catches them looking. He falters, freezes, and tries to get back into it - but something's definitely missing now. "Oops," Margo says. "There's the Q we know so well."

"Yeah," Julia sighs, giving Quentin a concerned look, a wordless question bundled in. "There he is." Quentin shakes his head, but the movement seems to draw Eliot's attention, and he bends down to murmur something in Quentin's ear - and Quentin turns a red far too bright to be from the press of people around them. "I hope he keeps it up, though. They deserve a shot together."

Margo gives Julia a calculating look. "I don't know what you know, Wicker," she says, "but if he hurts Eliot, he's dead."

Julia raises an eyebrow. "And _Eliot's _dead if he hurts Quentin," she counters. "Q would never hurt him on purpose, but..." She sighs before admitting, "He can be... oblivious. Stubbornly so, sometimes."

"I can't say what I want to say without breaking the Best Friend code," Margo sighs, "but if Q throws El a bone, you won't need to worry about Q getting hurt."

Julia sighs as well. “It’s convincing him to throw Eliot a bone that’s the problem,” she mutters. “I’ve tried, but...”

Margo shrugs, but she doesn't take her eyes off the pair of them. "Well," she says, "let's hope they both surprise us."

* * *

Margo and Julia don’t talk about their friends again, but from the significant eye contact over the next week, they both know they’re still watching Quentin and Eliot. Julia’s still worried about Quentin’s fuck up with the mirror spell and how that’s affecting his relationship with Eliot, but... Well, if it pushes him to show Eliot how he’s felt since before the mirror spell, surely it can’t be all that bad?

A week after that party, Margo, Alice, Quentin, and Eliot organize a movie night for their group. The week has been full of nothing but tests, and they’re all mentally exhausted. They claim the Cottage library for themselves, setting up a projector and all of the X-Men movies to binge. The kitchen is stocked with plenty of snacks, the bar has more than enough booze for all seven of them, and by seven o’clock that Friday, they’re gathered together and more than ready to relax and destress after the week they’ve had. 

They all start out on the furniture, but by the time the second movie has started, Eliot and Quentin are on the floor in front of Margo, still sitting sideways in her chair. Julia moved to the couch with Penny and Kady, and Alice claimed her chair after she moved. Eliot and Quentin start out each propped up against one arm of Margo’s chair, her hand in Eliot’s hair, but by the end of the first half of the movie, Eliot’s started fidgeting. 

”You okay?” Quentin asks Eliot, a small smile on his expression. “You’re moving around an awful lot over there.”

"I'm fine," Eliot says, in a way that suggests he is not fine and is, instead, incredibly inconvenienced.

Quentin rolls his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Quentin's eyebrow suggests that he is not very impressed with Eliot's answer. "Spit it out before you start bugging everyone else here," he murmurs. 

Eliot huffs. "I need to stretch my legs out," he says. "They're too long to be squished up on the floor for more than one movie."

Quentin rolls his eyes. "You could've just said," he says, tone fond as he shifts, stretching his own legs out and patting his thigh. "Here."

Eliot blinks. "What?"

"Lie down," Quentin says patiently, unaware of Margo watching them from above. "You can stretch your legs out to the side."

Eliot hesitates, but in the end he allows himself to unfurl his long legs until he's stretched out with his head in Quentin's lap. He can even still see the movie, albeit at an odd angle. "Thanks, Q," he murmurs.

”No problem,” Quentin hums, one hand coming to rest on the top of Eliot’s head, idly playing with his hair.

Eliot freezes, but when Quentin doesn't stop he makes himself relax, lets himself enjoy the feeling of his hair being twined around Quentin's fingers. "That feels nice," he comments after a while, because it does.

”Hm?” Quentin glances down, only now seeming to realize what he’s doing. He pauses, but only for a moment before his hand resumes its movement. “Sorry, your head was just right there. Didn’t realize what I was doing.”

Eliot smiles. "It's fine," he says. "I don't mind being treated like a cat."

Quentin snorts. “You certainly act like one,” he teases, letting his nails drag lightly against Eliot’s scalp.

That gets a pleased sound from Eliot, and he lets his eyes flutter closed. "Ooh, yes," he sighs. "Very that."

Quentin chuckles quietly, turning his attention back to the movie. His hand doesn't leave Eliot's hair for the rest of the night, and he doesn't even notice when Eliot falls asleep. 

Margo notices. 

* * *

"Rise and shine, bitch, we need to talk!" Margo announces her presence in Eliot's room by letting the door swing shut behind her with a _snap,_ her voice loud enough to wake the dead. "C'mon, Waugh, get that pillow off of your face and talk to me."

"Nnngh," Elior manages. It takes him a minute, but he does remove the pillow from his face and even sits up halfway. "What? Bambi, I'm _tired_."

"Then we can talk on the bed," Margo allows, sliding onto it beside Eliot, "but you're not allowed to fall asleep on me like you did with Quentin last night."

Eliot winces. "Fuck."

Margo raises an eyebrow. "Eloquent." She settles herself more comfortably on the bed, throwing one leg over Eliot's. "El. He invited you to put your head in his lap, and then he spent all night playing with your hair."

"_And?_" Eliot asks desperately. "So what?"

"_So,_ pussy up and ask him out already!"

Eliot visibly recoils. "There will be no asking out," he says. "We're not there yet."

"'Not there yet'?" Margo asks, incredulous. "How in the _fuck _do you get that?"

"We're taking things slowly," Eliot insists. "Q's only just gotten on board. You can't rush these things."

Margo treats Eliot's to a supremely unimpressed look. "I think he's been 'on board' since our threesome. _You _obviously haven't seen the ridiculously pining looks he's been giving you all semester."

Eliot scoffs. "That's ridiculous. The sex was phenomenal, you can't blame the boy for longing. That's not the same thing."

”He hasn’t been giving _me_ those looks,” Margo points out.

"I told you, we're getting there," Eliot says, "we're just not there _yet._ If I try something now I might scare him off."

”Trust me, honey. You won’t,” Margo sighs. “That boy is so far gone on you it’s frankly embarrassing. How do you _know_ you’re just not there? Have you talked to him about your relationship - or lack of one, rather - or are you just using that as an excuse? Because an excuse is what it sounds like to me.”

Eliot glowers at her. "No, I have not talked to him about it."

"So it's an excuse," Margo surmises, ignoring Eliot's glower. "Then you should do that. I mean, you _could _always just kiss him, but if you're so set on not scaring him off, your better bet is to talk to him like an adult. I know we don't usually act like it, but we are _technically _supposed to be adults."

Eliot rolls his eyes. "Will it get you off my back?" he asks.

"If you suck it up and have a meaningful and honest conversation with Q about how you want to suck his dick every night for the rest of your lives and gaze soulfully into his eyes in the morning afterwards?" Margo pretends to think about it for a moment, smirking. "Yes."

"Fine," Eliot huffs. "But if it blows up in my face you can deal with it."

"You say that like I wouldn't anyway," Margo laughs, tucking herself closer against Eliot's side. "If it blows up in your face - which it won't, because I'm never wrong - then I will hex him into oblivion and even let you say 'I told you so' once."

Eliot smiles and wraps his arm around her. "Just once?"

"Just once," she confirms. "And only because you'll need _some _kind of cheering up."

"All right," Eliot allows. He kisses the top of her head and gives her a squeeze. "Thank you, Bambi."

* * *

Eliot spends three days trying to get Quentin alone, but in the end he just marches into the living room of the Cottage, where Quentin is hanging out with Alice and Margo, and announces abruptly, "Q, I need you. In the library. Come on, let's go."

Margo and Alice both raise their eyebrows in almost perfect sync - Margo smirks like she knows what Eliot's planning - but Quentin doesn't pay them any attention, just rolls his eyes and gets to his feet. "Is this another missing book thing?" he asks, amused, as he follows Eliot towards the library door. "I will laugh at you if they're just banging in Todd's room again."

"No," Eliot says, holding the door open for Quentin to enter the room ahead of him, "nothing like that." He closes the door behind them and spells it locked for good measure before he turns to Quentin. He takes a breath. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Okay," Quentin says slowly, turning to face Eliot. He searches Eliot's expression for a moment, his own thoughtful, before he asks, "About what?" 

"About this," Eliot says, gesturing vaguely between them. "Us. You've been acting... different, lately."

Quentin blinks, expression turning uncertain. "Maybe a little," he concedes. "Is that... a problem?"

"No," Eliot says. "Quite the opposite, actually. It's made me think. About us, about what I want." He looks Quentin in the eye, sets his jaw like this is taking a special kind of bravery. "Do you know what you want, Quentin?"

Quentin closes his eyes and takes a deep breath; when he meets Eliot's gaze again, there's no more traces of uncertainty. "Yes."

Almost despite himself, Eliot draws closer to Quentin, but stops just short of reaching him. "Can you tell me?" he asks. "Because if I'm reading this wrong, I need to know."

”You’re not reading this wrong,” Quentin says, breathless but sure as he meets Eliot's searching gaze. “I - “ He takes a breath, tries again. “I am... so far gone on you, it’s a little ridiculous. Have been for a while.”

The words visibly hit Eliot - and a slow grin spreads across his face. "That's incredibly good news," he says.

”Yeah?” Quentin asks, a grin that matches Eliot’s crossing his own expression. “How so?”

"Well," Eliot says, his smile softening into something tender now, "I've been in love with you for most of the past year."

Quentin sucks in a breath, leaning in closer to Eliot; another step would put them chest-to-chest. "Are you trying to make this into a contest?" he asks, teasing. 

Eliot takes that step. "If it's one I'll lose," he says, humour dancing in his eyes. "I'm not in the habit of throwing myself at the feet of someone who isn't interested."

Quentin laughs quietly, reaching out to take Eliot's hand in his. "I am _very _interested," he murmurs. 

Eliot grins, wraps his free arm around Quentin's waist. "Then shut up and kiss me."

Quentin laughs, but reaches up to curl his free hand around the back of Eliot's neck and guide their mouths together nonetheless. It's soft and sweet, this first kiss that isn't really their first. Eliot is still smiling when they part; he cups Quentin's face and kisses him again, thumb sweeping over his cheekbone, and this one he feels down to his toes.

Quentin hums into that second kiss, and the third, pressing himself as close to Eliot as he possibly can. "You know," he murmurs when they pull apart again, "I never really thought anything would happen, but I, uh." He has to pause and laugh again before continuing, "I never thought you'd just come right out and _ask _if I was interested in you."

Eliot smirks. "In all fairness, the way you've been acting lately gave me a pretty big clue."

Something crosses Quentin's expression too fast to be categorized, covered by the rather lovely flush that follows it. "I didn't even realize I was acting differently until it kept getting pointed out," he laughs. "But _this _-" He squeezes Eliot's hand, smile softening into something tender and sweet. " - is more than worth all those little embarrassments."

Eliot laughs "I should hope so." He brings Quentin's hand to his lips, brushes a gentle kiss against his knuckles. "You ready to go back out there?"

Quentin laughs, tugging their hands away from Eliot's lips so he can kiss Eliot again, slow and deep and just because he can. "Now I am," he hums. 

* * *

Kady is sitting with Alice and Margo when Quentin and Eliot emerge from the library, and she immediately gives them a wolf whistle, eliciting an embarrassed blush from Quentin and a laugh from Eliot. There's plenty of teasing from all of their friends, but everyone is happy for the two of them. Alice even approaches Quentin later that night while Eliot is mixing some drinks for them all and tells him she's glad that they finally talked things out. It's more than Quentin had thought he'd ever get from her, and it leaves him happy and hopeful that maybe they can build a friendship moving forward. 

Julia keeps giving Quentin smug looks, and even says 'I told you so' at one point before Quentin hauls her in for a tight hug. She pulls him aside at one point and asks about the memories from his past life, but Quentin doesn't have an answer for as to _when _he's going to tell Eliot about them. Those memories may have influenced his behavior, but it was all stuff he'd wanted to do for months before the spell that backfired. Does it really matter when or even _if _he tells Eliot about that?

Quentin doesn't come to an answer before the choice is taken from him. 

* * *

"Where is he?" Eliot demands, slamming through the infirmary doors and striding with barely-controlled urgency into the ward. He needn't have asked; Quentin is sitting up in the bed furthest from the doors, blinking confusedly around the room. Eliot doesn't run to him, but it's a near thing. "Q, are you all right? I came as soon as I got Julia's message."

Quentin's expression clears when he catches sight of Eliot, but only slightly. "Where am I?" he asks, focusing on Eliot, leaning towards him and away from the healers hovering anxiously nearby. "I don't - I don't remember what happened."

"You're in the infirmary," Eliot says, drawing near so that he can reach out and run his hands soothingly over Quentin's shoulders. "You were in class, and there was an accident with a spell, but I don't--" He looks over at Julia, hovering on the other side of the bed. "What happened?"

"He was partnered with Eliza in divination," Julia says, watching nervously as Quentin relaxes under Eliot's hands. "They were working on a spell for the final, and she messed up the popper. It fucked with his memories."

"What do you mean it fucked with his memories?" Eliot demands. "Q?"

Quentin frowns, but before he can say anything, Julia steps in. "As in, he's temporarily lost them," she says, as carefully as she can. "I mean... the ones from this life."

"Can someone please start talking sense?"

Julia bites her lip for a moment before saying, "That accident Q had, with the mirror spell that was worth ten percent of his grade a few months back? He bruised himself with a miscast spell, and it... The spell gave him a past life's memories."

"All right," Eliot says slowly. "So he thinks he's... someone else?"

This time, Julia can't speak fast enough. "No, I'm still Jason," Quentin says, irritable. "Not this... _Q _person. If this is some trick you've convinced Arielle to play on me, Hale, it’s pretty damn impressive, but I'm tired of it now."

Eliot frowns down at him. "Who the hell are Hale and Arielle?"

Quentin's expression is one of clear disbelief. "Hale and Arielle are you and our wife," he says slowly. "Well, technically she's only married to me because Fillorian law doesn't allow for two husbands, but - Hale, _where the hell are we?_"

"You hold on a second," Eliot says, holding up a finger in front of Quentin's face. He turns to Julia. "Why does he think _I'm_ his husband?"

"Because you look almost exactly like him," she says, almost whispers. "That's what he told me, when he first found out about these memories." 

"What?" Eliot releases Quentin's shoulder, and takes a step back.

Quentin almost immediately tenses up, and he reaches out, searching out Eliot's hand and taking it in his. Julia's expression turns anguished. "Not like that, Eliot," she says, almost desperately. "He liked you before that happened, he just wouldn't say anything no matter what I tried to convince him he should."

But Eliot doesn't seem to hear her. He looks down at Quentin as though Quentin just struck him. "Que-- Uhh, Jason. Look. I'm really sorry, but I'm not Hale. My name is Eliot."

Quentin shakes his head. "No, that's - that doesn't make any _sense,_" he argues, almost desperately. 

"I know," Eliot says, wincing. "But this isn't Fillory, it's a different world. I guess Hale is still there?"

"How should I know when I don't even know how I ended up here?" Quentin retorts, but there's an anxious edge to his voice. "Fuck, we were supposed to go to the market with Teddy, we promised him we'd take him to visit the carpenter."

Eliot exchanges a wide-eyed look with Julia. "We'll get you back," he tries. "We're going to do it as soon as possible, okay? For now you just have to trust us."

Quentin glances around suspiciously, gaze barely touching on Julia - and it's clear how much that pains her - before he nods, looking back at Eliot. "Will you stay?" he asks. 

Eliot takes another step back, uncomfortable, but he doesn't make Quentin let go of his hand. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."

Quentin's grip tightens, his eyes widening. "Please. Even if you're not my husband, I - I feel better with you here. Less like I'm going to fly out of my skin."

"Oh my god," Eliot breathes. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. "Fine. Yes, I'll stay." He squeezes Quentin's hand, and finally shifts his focus to the healers at the end of the bed. "How long are we talking about before it wears off? Are there any physical effects?"

"A day, maybe less," the healer answers immediately. "His memories are there, just... locked away. We need to determine how his classmate cast the spell before we can reverse it, and we are already making progress on that front."

"Do you need him here for that?" Eliot asks. "Or can I take him home?"

The healer looks apologetic and they answer, "We need to keep him here for observation, just to be safe. There are... very few cases like his. We would rather be safe than sorry."

Eliot closes his eyes again and just breathes through his nose for a long moment. "Okay," he says at last. "Fine. Since he thinks I'm his husband, I'm going to insist that you allow me to stay with him until he's back to himself."

The healer's expression is sympathetic. "In the interest of keeping him calm and settled, that can be arranged."

"Perfect, thank you." Eliot tightens his hand in Quentin's once more. "Happy now?"

Quentin nods, though he still looks distrustful of the people and world around him. "Better," he concedes, giving Eliot a half-smile. 

Eliot makes himself smile back. "Good," he says. "That's all that matters."

* * *

Julia leaves shortly after that, and Quentin and Eliot don't talk much as the healers work around Quentin, ensuring that the miscast spell hasn't affected anything else. Once they're satisfied, they finally leave Eliot alone with Quentin, and an awkward silence falls. Quentin is studying Eliot as the other seems to be looking anywhere _but _at Quentin, and eventually he snorts. "The similarities are uncanny," he says, apropos of nothing. "But your eyes are different from Hale's. You carry yourself differently, too."

"Really?" Eliot asks, interested despite himself. "Tell me about him."

Quentin smiles, the expression soft and fond. "He's... absolutely wonderful," he says. "I know that makes me sound like a besotted fool, but I suppose I am. Have been ever since we met. He's strong, caring. I've seen him face down a manticore with nothing but his magic - and when he casts, I swear the whole world can bend to his will."

And just like that, Eliot feels awkward again. He laughs and looks away. "Yeah, definitely not me," he says.

Quentin frowns. "You're here, aren't you? Even though you didn't want to be at first. That takes another kind of strength. And you clearly care for Quentin."

"Yeah," Eliot breathes, hating himself just a little. "I do."

Quentin shrugs. "Then you are also strong and caring," he deduces. "Just in a different way than Hale is." He pauses, gives Eliot what's clearly meant to be a comforting smile. "And I heard what - what was her name, Julia? - Julia said earlier, about Quentin caring for you, for a long time."

Eliot shakes his head. "She was just saying that," he says. "We're good friends, but I don't think it's like it is with you and Hale." Or maybe it's a little too like that.

Quentin raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he drops the subject nonetheless. "These clothes are so _weird,_" he mutters, turning his attention to his shirt and plucking at the hem, frowning. "Nothing like mine."

Eliot sighs. "What do you wear back home?" he asks.

"My clothing is much looser," Quentin says thoughtfully. "And it's... not quite as soft."

"We have fabric softener," Eliot offers. "And poly-blends."

Quentin blinks. "Poly-blends?"

Eliot sighs. "Never mind."

* * *

True to his word, Eliot stays by Quentin’s side for that night and even through to the next morning, camping out on the infirmary bed next to Quentin’s. Their conversations go from easy to stilted and back to easy depending on the topic, but by the time the healers finally announce that they’ve found a way to reverse the spell on Quentin, Eliot is beyond tired, and not just physically.

”So, I just sit here?” Quentin asks again, still looking skeptical even as the healer nods.

”We’ll take care of the spell, we just need you to stay still,” she confirms. 

Quentin takes a deep breath, gives Eliot’s hand one more squeeze, and then nods. “Alright.”

The spell that the healers use is long and complicated; it takes nearly three entire minutes to cast. At one point, Quentin’s grip on Eliot’s hand tightens to almost painful levels before abruptly going slack - and as the healers finish the last tut, Quentin blinks, looking dazed for a moment before his gaze lands on Eliot, jumping behind him briefly to Julia before returning to Eliot. “El? Jules?”

"Yep," Eliot says, quickly extricating his hand from Quentin's loose grasp. "Good to have you back, Q." He stands.

”Wait, where are you - “ Quentin shifts, tries to reach for Eliot again - but he’s gone, and he doesn’t look back. Quentin looks at Julia, lost. “What happened?”

"He's just tired," Julia offers, though it's clear she's lying. "He was up with you all night."

Quentin frowns, looking at the door for a moment before he looks at Julia. “He wouldn’t have left like that if he was just tired,” he says slowly. “Jules... What happened? The last thing I remember is working with Eliza, practicing for our divination final.”

Julia sighs, and comes to sit with him on the bed. "It went wrong," she says. "You forgot who you were for a while, and... reverted to memories of a past life, instead."

Quentin blinks, pales. “You mean - “

"Yeah," Julia says, regretful. "You thought you were Jason, and you thought Eliot was Hale."

"_Fuck,_" Quentin says emphatically. "That's - Shit." He buries his face in his hands, knees pulled up to his chest. "No wonder he ran out of here."

"I'm sorry, Q," Julia says. "I tried to explain it to him, but he wouldn't listen. He really didn't leave your side the whole time. Maybe he just needs time to process?"

Quentin doesn’t lift his head as he says, “I really don’t think that’s why he ran. He - Did he know how long I’ve had those memories?”

Julia bites her lip. "Maybe?"

Quentin lifts his head, only to drop it against Julia’s shoulder. “That’s the problem, then,” he sighs. “It - If he didn’t listen to you, then I don’t... Did you tell him that I’ve liked him for a _long_ time?”

"I tried to," Julia says. "There was a lot going on. But you can tell him yourself when you get back to the Cottage."

”If he lets me,” Quentin worries. “I don’t know if he’ll want to even be in the same room as me; I might have to go through Margo.” He looks equal parts intimidated and determined at the thought.

"You're overthinking it," Julia insists. "You haven't even seen him yet properly. Come on, Q. Get the all-clear from the healers and go after him."

Quentin makes himself pull in a deep breath, and then another. "Okay," he says, giving himself a shake and sitting up. "Alright, I'll go find Eliot."

* * *

As it turns out, he doesn't have to find Eliot. He's waiting for Quentin when he gets back to his room, just sitting on the bed staring at his hands. He looks up for a moment when Quentin comes in, but looks back down again without meeting his gaze. "Hey," he says dully. "Clean bill of health?"

"Yeah," Quentin says, stepping closer, one hand reaching out towards Eliot. "El, about yesterday - "

But Eliot holds up a hand. "Don't," he says. "It's okay, Q, I... I get it."

Quentin hesitates, bites his lip. Eliot's _words _are reassuring, but his tone, his expression... "You... do?" he asks hesitantly. 

"Yeah," Eliot says. "You don't need to worry about it, okay? I won't hold you to anything."

There's a foreboding feeling like his heart just dropped right out of his chest. "What - No, you don't - What are you talking about?"

Eliot sighs and gets to his feet. "I just think it's for the best if we put the last few weeks behind us. We can still be friends, but we both know anything else would be doomed to failure. It's not what either of us really wants."

Quentin rocks back on his heels, actually has to take a step back to keep from falling against the doorframe. "'Not what either of us really wants'?" His heart, already somewhere around his feet, drops straight through the floor. "El, I don't - I don't understand, what about everything we said in the library?"

"What about it?" Eliot asks, cold and dismissive. "Misguided nonsense."

Quentin's heart starts burrowing through the earth. "Oh," he whispers. He clears his throat. "Okay. I - Um." He clears his throat, scrubs a hand over his face and surreptitiously wipes away the tears at the corner of his eye; he'll be damned if he lets Eliot see them, not now. "Okay. I guess I'll - I'll see you later? It's just... It's been a long couple of days, and the infirmary beds aren't that comfortable, so."

"Of course." Eliot steps smartly around Quentin and pauses in the doorway. "Rest up, Q. I'll see you tomorrow."

Quentin doesn't quite look at Eliot as he says, "Yeah, okay. I'll - I'll see you."

He barely waits for Eliot to step out of the doorway before he shuts the door and locks it. Quentin casts a soundproofing spell for good measure, and stumbles towards his bed, tears returning with a vengeance. He'll see Eliot tomorrow, but right now... 

Right now, he needs to readjust his whole worldview. 

Again. 

* * *

Quentin stays in his room for most of the day, only venturing out for food around two in the afternoon before retreating once again. At first, he’s just sorting through his emotions, trying to process them and sort things out. He tries to go back over the conversation with Eliot in the library, but he can’t - he can’t figure out _where_ they screwed that up, where there was any of that ‘misguided nonsense’ that Eliot so casually dismissed, but - 

All Quentin can come up with is the fact that Eliot had said he loved Quentin, but Quentin hadn’t said it back, too swept up in what was happening, thinking it was _obvious._ Neither of them had said it in the weeks since, and then Quentin ended up in the infirmary. 

No matter how hard he wracks his brain, Quentin can’t find a foolproof way to convince Eliot that he’s loved him since long before that first fucked-up spell, but shortly after dinner, Quentin decides that he has to try, has to tell Eliot that - for him, at least - it wasn’t misguided nonsense. Gathering every last scrap of courage he can find, Quentin opens his door and starts down the hallway, intent on knocking on Eliot’s door, saying what he has to through the wood or even sliding a fucking note under the door if he has to - 

Quentin pauses when Eliot’s door opens, sucks in a breath when Margo steps out. “Margo,” he calls, stepping forward. “Hey, I need to talk to - “

"No," Margo says, "you really don't."

Quentin pauses, but then rallies, expression determined. “No, actually, I do. He can kick me out - or kick my ass - afterwards, but I need to talk to him.”

"No," Margo says again. "I'm sorry, Q, we're really good friends - but frankly, El's way more important to me. I can't let you at him."

”Margo, please, he doesn’t have the whole - “

"I can guarantee that whatever you have to say will not make the slightest difference," Margo tells him. "You've done enough damage, Coldwater. Leave him alone."

”I’m trying to _fix_ some of that damage,” Quentin insists, not moving. “I need to explain something he misunderstood.”

"Quentin," Margo snaps, "if you don't remove yourself from this hallway right the fuck now, I'm going to hex you into next week."

Quentin opens his mouth, only to close it with a snap when he gets a better look at Margo’s expression. She’s completely, utterly serious - and she’s out of any patience she might have had for him. He briefly considers trying for Eliot’s door anyway, but he knows Margo; he wouldn’t make it two steps. Instead, he bites his lip and takes a step back. “Alright,” he says, reluctant. “I - Alright.” He turns to leave and pauses, looking back over his shoulder at Margo for a moment - but what else can he say?

So, without saying anything, he turns and heads back to his room.

* * *

Margo has her hands full for the next few days; she watches over Eliot whenever they’re not in class - she drags him to class, as a matter of fact, after letting him skip a day. She remembers all too well the way that Eliot had slid _scarily_ fast into the habits of day-drinking and overindulging after the breakup with Mike, and she doesn’t want to see him like that again or - gods forbid - _worse._

Margo manages to do a good job, if she does say so herself; Eliot does get drunker than she would like, but there’s no way she’d be able to keep him from getting drunk _at all,_ so she lets it go. She’s more concerned with keeping Eliot from spending most of his time high rather than tipsy, honestly.

She’s also focused on keeping Eliot from dwelling on Quentin, which is harder than she’d have ever thought before, even taking into account the fact that Quentin lives in the Physical Cottage. Quentin seems to have taken her warning to heart; he doesn’t try to approach Eliot, but even so, he’s still _around,_ and more than once Margo has to talk Eliot out of approaching Quentin.

A few days later, while Eliot is upstairs sleeping off the previous night’s indulgences, Margo spots Quentin heading into the Cottage library, leaving Julia behind in front of the fireplace in the main room. After a moment’s considerations, Margo approaches her, dropping into the chair next to the couch she’s sitting on. “So,” she says, looking at Julia with a raised eyebrow. “You were wrong.”

Julia bristles, instantly on the defense. "About what?"

”About Quentin being ‘ass over teakettle’ for Eliot.”

"No," Julia says slowly, "I wasn't wrong. He's devastated that Eliot won't see him. He really cares about him."

Margo scoffs. "Are you sure that's Quentin and not _Jason_?"

Julia rolls her eyes. "I know my best friend, Margo," she says. "Q's been taken with Eliot since they met."

”Really. And the reason he never made a move until he got those past life memories?”

Julia sighs. "You don't know him as well as I do, but I know you know how much he struggles with anxiety," she says. "I guess the memories proved to him that they could work together now, made him brave enough to try."

Margo studies Julia for a moment through narrowed eyes, considering that. “That was a life in what sounds like a medieval forest,” she says slowly. “Why would that convince him they could work now? That wasn’t even Eliot.”

"He knows that," Julia insists, "but it was close enough to boost his confidence. If they worked in a past life, why not now?"

Margo studies Julia for another moment before she finally gets to her feet. “You _really_ believe he loves Eliot?”

"Eliot's my friend, too," Julia says. "I wouldn't lie about this."

Margo just hums, looking at Quentin, who’s emerged from the library and is looking at her with wide eyes. She gives him a mysterious smile before she turns and walks away, mind turning.

* * *

Eliot doesn't see Quentin at first when he makes it downstairs, he just heads straight to the bar and the bottle of vodka waiting behind it. It's that weird time of night when no one's really around in the Cottage, so Eliot doesn't actually realise there's anyone in the room at all until Quentin gets down from the window seat and starts to walk up to him. Eliot jumps out of his skin. "Jesus, Q," he says, clutching at his pounding heart. "Didn't see you there."

Quentin gives him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I thought you had," he says. He looks at the bottle of vodka in Eliot's hand and bites his lip. "That's... not your first today, is it?"

Eliot's laugh sounds more than a little hysterical. "No, sweetheart," he says, "no it is not. But don't worry about it. Daddy can handle his liquor."

"That's what I'm worried about," Quentin says with a wry twist of his lips. "Look, Margo finally let me talk to you, but... Maybe it should wait until you're more sober."

Eliot sighs. "Margo's right," he says. "I don't want to talk to you."

Quentin still looks determined, though. "Well, I don't want to leave anything unsaid. You don't have the whole story, and if you want to kick my ass and tell me to fuck off after you hear it, fine. But I already let you walk away twice without saying anything, I'm not doing that again."

Eliot pulls a glass out from under the bar and unscrews the cap on the vodka, but his hand shakes as he pours himself a drink. "Listen, Q," he says, "I already got the full story, all right? I got it from Jason. You love _Hale._ That's fine. But I don't need to be around for that."

"No, _I_ don't love Hale; Jason did," Quentin says, shaking his head. "I should've told you about what happened with the mirror, and I'm sorry that I didn't. But those memories aren't _mine_. I was already in love with someone when I got them."

"Right," Eliot says. He laughs again and knocks his vodka back in one go. When he refills his glass, his hand shakes so much that some vodka splashes out onto the bar. "Fuck. Of course you were. Of fucking course, you're _Quentin_. And I told you I was in love with you. What a fucking joke."

"I was in love with _you,_ dumbass," Quentin says, remarkably calmly for the situation. "Had been for at least six months before I fucked up that spell."

Eliot is too busy slamming his next shot to hear him. Once that one's gone he gives up on pouring another and drinks straight from the bottle instead. "Just fuck off, Q, okay? I can deal with this, but not with you constantly in my face."

Quentin sighs. "I'm not going to fuck off until you actually hear what I'm saying," he repeats. "And if that means I start hiding the alcohol until you sober up, then that's what I'll do, I'll - I'll fucking shrink it, send it into another dimension, whatever. Or I could take you upstairs, help you into bed, and we can talk in the morning."

"I'm not so pathetic that I'll let you take me to bed out of pity," Eliot says disdainfully.

"El, I'm not taking you to bed for sex. Hell, I won't even get _in _the bed, I'll sit in the hall outside your door until morning if I have to."

Eliot snorts into the bottle and takes another drink. "That's not creepy at all."

Quentin shrugs, unable to help a small smile. "This is what you've reduced me to," he says. "A lovesick idiot willing to camp outside your door after braving your ferocious best friend."

Eliot takes another swig from the bottle. "Stop it," he says. He's definitely slurring now. "I don't wanna talk about this anymore."

"Then you don't have to talk," Quentin says, carefully coming around the bar and wrapping his hand around the bottle Eliot is holding, how own hand just below Eliot's. "Just - Let's just get you upstairs, El."

Eliot finally meets Quentin's gaze then. He looks vulnerable and scared. "I hate this, Q," he admits. "I hate feeling like this every time I look at you."

Quentin falters then, swallowing hard. "I know," he whispers, because he _does, _"I know. I hate it, too, and I just - I want to make it better. Help us move on, if nothing else. Let me?"

Eliot hesitates, but he nods. "Bed?" he asks.

Quentin's smile is small, but it's more genuine than it's been all week when he nods. "Bed," he agrees, taking the bottle from Eliot's slack grip, screwing the cap back on and setting it on the bar. 

Eliot spares a mournful glance for the bottle, but then lets Quentin lead him up the stairs.

Quentin and Eliot don't talk on the way up the stairs, or down the hall, or even as Eliot opens his door and they step into Eliot's room, door falling shut behind them. They don't say anything as Eliot readies himself for bed - it doesn't take long - but eventually, Quentin breaks the silence. "I'll see you in the morning, El," he says quietly, stepping back towards the door. "Sleep well."

But before he can so much as open the door, Eliot calls out, "Wait."

Quentin pauses, turning to look back at Eliot. "Yeah?"

Eliot meets his gaze for a second and then looks away. "Will you stay?" he asks. "Margo hasn't let me be alone for a while."

Quentin blinks. "You sure?" he asks hesitantly. 

Eliot sighs. "Quentin, I'm wasted, I'm miserable, and I probably shouldn't be by myself right now. Yes, I'm sure."

Quentin's expression softens, and he steps back towards the bed. "Alright," he says, sliding onto the open side of the bed, on top of the covers. "I'll stay."

Eliot sighs again and lets his eyes close. "Thanks, Q."

* * *

When Eliot wakes up, his head is splitting, his mouth tastes like something died in it, and he's curled up against someone who is lying on top of the covers beside him. At first he thinks it's Margo, but it doesn't feel or smell like Margo. If Eliot didn't know any better, he'd say it was...

"Quentin," he says, and sits bolt upright. "Oh my god."

Quentin startles awake, sitting up himself. "What - Oh. Uh. Morning."

"Morning," Eliot repeats, mortified. "Fuck. Uhh. Did we--?"

"No," Quentin says immediately, hastening to reassure Eliot. "No, we didn't - we've both still got all our clothes on."

"Oh," Eliot says. "Right." He runs a hand through his hair. "Well, I don't really remember much of last night, so... Thanks, I guess?"

There's a wry twist to Quentin's lips. "I figured you wouldn't remember much. But you're welcome." He hesitates, takes a deep breath. "What... _do _you remember?"

"Getting fucking white girl wasted and it not being enough," Eliot admits, somewhat surprised by his own candour. "I think I ended up drinking vodka from the bottle, which isn't exactly surprising. You were saying something about..." He freezes. "You were in love with someone else before that spell backfired. Q, I'm so sorry."

Quentin sighs. "Of course that's the part you remembered. You... wouldn't happen to remember the part where I said I was in love with _you,_ and then called you a dumbass?"

Eliot actually recoils. "Listen," he says, "I get it, okay? That spell made everything wonky. You don't have to feel like you owe me anything."

"The spell made some things wonky," Quentin agrees easily, "but not that. I've been gone on you since just after our drunken threesome. Like, it's a little embarrassing just how far and fast I fell for you, even before that, and afterwards..."

"Afterwards what?" Eliot asks.

"Afterwards, I went from having the world's most embarrassing crush on you to being in love with you," Quentin answers, making himself meet Eliot's gaze. "Realized it about halfway through the summer, after Margo texted me a picture of you in the absolute most _ridiculous _sunglasses I've ever seen, posing like a supermodel. Just, clear as day, I had the thought, 'God, I'm in love with a fucking goober.'"

"I resent that," Eliot says - and then his breath catches. "Q. If this is another spell or something that's clouding your memories--"

"You can go ask Julia," Quentin says, the accompanying laugh equal parts amused and self-deprecating. "Pretty sure she screenshotted my entire freak out over that realization. It... lasted quite a while. Like, days."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Eliot asks.

"How was I supposed to do that?" Quentin asks, a little desperately. "You're my best friend next to Julia, and things were so weird those first few days after we slept together, and that was just sex. This was _feelings._ I - I couldn't take the chance it would ruin things between us."

"So what happened after the mirror spell?" Eliot asks. "Was it just you reacting to the memories of Hale?"

Quentin takes a moment to string his thoughts together. "Not... exactly," he says carefully. "I don't have all of Jason's memories, only a few specific ones and a sense of deja vu, sometimes; like I dreamed it, you know? You and Hale look a lot alike, and how Jason felt for Hale was so close to what I felt for you... But everything I did? It was all stuff I'd wanted to do for _months,_ I just... I had a little extra push to actually something about do it."

Eliot blinks. "But why?"

"Because they made it work," Quentin says, glancing down at the bedspread between them, hands fisted in his lap. "I - I've always known you were _Eliot,_ not Hale. That was never a question in my mind. But I had Jason's memories - or enough of them, at any rate - of how fucking much _he _loved his partner, how he acted with Hale... And it was all so close to the things I already wanted to do with you. So, some wires got crossed, yeah. But - But not the wires you thought. Just the ones keeping me from reaching out to you the way I wanted to."

Eliot nods, processing. "Why not just tell me that?" he asks. "What was I supposed to think when I walked into that infirmary and Julia told me you'd been remembering a past life for months, one where you and I were married? It felt like everything between us was a lie." 

Quentin shrugs. "I know," he says helplessly. "I know what it looked like, why you felt that way, and - and I was scared that, no matter how I phrased it, you'd still feel that way. I was scared I wouldn't manage to explain things right, so I... didn't say anything, and you found out anyway, in the _worst _possible way, and I'm sorry for that."

"And Margo's been stopping you from talking to me," Eliot realises. "Fuck. Q, I'm... kind of a mess. She's been trying to keep me from going off the deep end since I found out. She thought she was protecting me."

"I know, and I don't blame her," Quentin assures Eliot. "I'd do the same thing if this had happened to Julia."

Eliot offers him a tight smile. "So I may or may not have a slight drinking problem that gets worse when I experience emotional distress," he says. "In case you didn't already know."

Quentin gives Eliot a small smile, carefully reaches out to lay his hand over Eliot's. "I know," he says quietly. "I saw it after Mike. And I'm sorry I put you in that position."

"It's not your fault," Eliot says, "I'm not blaming you. But this is the kind of thing you need to know about me if..."

"If?" Quentin asks softly. 

"If you decide that you still want me."

"I do," Quentin says without hesitation. "I want you, El."

Eliot ducks his head to hide a smile. "God, Q," he says. "You've always been so brave."

Quentin laughs. "Well, I said I let you walk away twice, and I wasn't doing it a third time," he says, smiling, squeezing Eliot's hand. "Plus Margo told me not to fuck it up this time, so I couldn't chicken out even if I wanted to."

Eliot laughs. "Do you want to?"

"Absolutely not."

Eliot smiles and squeezes Quentin's hand. "So what happens now?" he asks.

"Now, I finally get to say this, so you know I'm absolutely sure about you." Quentin doesn't look nervous; his smile is genuine, fond. "I love you."

This time, Eliot doesn't hesitate. "I love you, too," he murmurs.

Quentin's smile grows, and he shifts closer. "Can I kiss you? Please?"

Eliot's lips part on a soft breath and he closes his eyes. "Yes."

Quentin shifts even closer, pauses for only a moment - and then leans in and captures Eliot's mouth in a soft kiss. 

Eliot makes a sound that could be a laugh or a sob, and gets one hand around the back of Quentin's neck, his thumb stroking at the soft spot just behind his ear. The kiss is tender, gentle, but they both pull away with their eyes shining anyway. "I've missed you so much," Eliot confesses. "I'm so sorry I almost ruined everything."

Quentin shakes his head, reaches up to thumb gently at the corner of Eliot's eye, brushing away the wetness there. "It's alright," he murmurs. "We're fixing it now."

Eliot laughs, though that's a little wet, too. "We'd better be."

* * *

They end up staying in bed until past noon; at some point, Quentin migrates under the covers with Eliot, and they pass the time talking and dozing. When they finally venture downstairs, driven by hunger, Margo is waiting for them with sharp eyes and a smirk that softens into something a bit more genuine when she sees Eliot’s hand in Quentin’s. 

She still makes a throat-cutting motion across her own neck as soon as Eliot’s back is turned, but Quentin isn’t expecting anything less.

Julia is ecstatic when she finds out, and even Alice gives them a brief congratulations, followed immediately by, “It was getting annoying, the way you two were moping around. And distracting.” From there, life... settles.

Not that Quentin and Eliot are complaining; it settles into something _good._ Quentin spends more nights in Eliot’s room than he does in his own, and he’s never slept better, even if he’s sleeping less. Their days are still focused on classes, but now their evenings are spent curled up together or hanging out at the bar whenever there’s a party going on. 

November flies by, and before they know it, it’s Thanksgiving break. None of them have any desire to go anywhere, so they decide to have a friendsgiving, making Thanksgiving dinner with their group instead of going home and spending it with family - and Quentin is put in charge of making sure there’s plenty of soda to go around, because no one has any desire to rebuild the kitchen this year. Eliot puts himself in charge of organizing the food, a decision which is uncontested. 

The day of their feast, Quentin leaves campus to pick up their drinks, pushing through the holiday crowds with Julia at his side as Eliot works in the kitchen. He’s been there since nearly five o’clock in the morning, and Quentin’s looking forward to seeing the results of his boyfriend’s hard work. Julia finds the ingredients that she and Margo had been missing, Quentin loads up on what seems like an _absurd_ about of soda but will probably barely last them the day, and they return to Brakebills. 

”Alright!” Quentin calls out, shouldering the door to the Cottage open, his hands occupied with a twelve-pack of Diet Dr Pepper. “If you want drinks and aren’t busy in the kitchen, get out here and help us bring them in.”

"Hold your fucking horses," Margo calls back - but she appears moments later and takes the Dr Pepper from Quentin's arms. "El's elbow-deep in cranberry sauce right now, but he says hi."

Quentin grins. "I'll go say hi myself once we get all of these in. There's still several cases outside."

"Get to work, then," Margo says, spinning on her heel and heading for the bar. "Penny's around here somewhere, he can help."

Penny is apparently lounging in the window seat, because he leans forward far enough to give Quentin a hateful look. "Penny cannot."

"_Penny _is not in the kitchen cooking, so yes he can," Julia counters before Quentin can say anything, giving Penny a meaningful look. 

Penny looks between her and Quentin, and rolls his eyes, hard - but he does stand up. "Fine."

Quentin shakes his head when Julia gives Penny a winning smile, unable to help the curve of his own. “The sooner we get them in the sooner you can go back to pretending you don’t like anyone besides Kady and Jules,” he assures Penny, laughing when Julia splutters behind him. “Grab the Coke, will you?”

Penny flips him off, but he doesn't argue any more.

Quentin ducks into the kitchen once everything's inside and put away, causing Eliot to immediately launch his wooden spoon and make grabby hands for him. "Here," he says, "now."

Quentin steps in close without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Eliot's waist. "Hi, babe," he says, tilting his head up for a kiss. "Kitchen smells amazing."

"Kitchen smells like desperation and barely-controlled disaster," Eliot says, kissing Quentin again. "But I'm working with it. Can you take the potatoes out of the oven?"

Quentin hums, pulling Eliot in for one more kiss before he steps back. "Of course. Same recipe as last year?"

Eliot grins at him. "You remember?"

"I remember everyone only got a serving about the size of a pudding cup because Josh ate the rest," Quentin laughs, reaching for the pot holders. 

"Well, luckily for you, Josh isn't here this year," Eliot laughs. "So feel free to call dibs."

Quentin grins, opening the oven door and carefully reaching in for the potato dish - the last thing he needs is to burn himself. He pulls it out, sets the dish on the countertop, and closes the oven, taking a deep breath. "_Fuck,_ those smell as amazing as I remember," he moans. 

"That recipe is one of the only things I took with me when I left home," Eliot says proudly.

"One of the only things _worth _taking," Quentin says, stepping closer to Eliot so he can wrap one arm around his waist and lean in, pressing a kiss to Eliot's cheek. "You've got cranberry sauce on your forehead, by the way."

"Fucking hell." Eliot pulls away to wipe at his forehead. "I'm actually almost done, so if you want to tell the ducklings to gather 'round?"

"Sure thing," Quentin says easily, moving away from Eliot and into the living room. Julia, Kady, and Penny are absorbed in a conversation about what sounds like _Leverage,_ and Margo and Alice are arguing over something to do with Alice's outfit. "Food's ready!" he calls, then immediately ducks back into the kitchen to avoid the stampede for second to the table - Penny, of course, Travels to it first, smirking at Julia's accusation of "_Cheater!_"

Eliot is waiting for him with the turkey on a serving tray in his hands. The potatoes, vegetables and gravy are floating behind him in their respective dishes, ready to go. He gives Quentin a wink. "Grab the wine, will you?"

Quentin tosses out a lazy salute, doing as asked. By the time he returns, everyone has settled themselves at the table, and Quentin sets the wine where Eliot points before sliding into his chair. "This looks amazing, El," Margo enthuses, giving Eliot a smile. 

Eliot blows her a kiss. "Thank you, darling. Would you like to carve?"

"Are we sure we should give her a sharp object?" Quentin teases. "She's dangerous enough already."

"Fuck you, Coldwater," Margo says cheerfully, taking the knife from Eliot. "Just for that, you're getting served last. Alice, hand your plate over."

Alice smirks at Quentin when he protests, and under everyone else's laughter and teasing, Quentin subsides, grumbling - but he's smiling the whole time. Dinner is a raucous affair, good food and wine paired with wonderful company making the time fly by, and before they know it it's dark outside, and they've migrated to the main room, drinks refilled and scattered across the furniture and each other. Quentin is lying with his head in Eliot's lap, Eliot's head in Margo's lap, and Quentin... honestly isn't sure how Julia, Kady, and Penny have managed to tangle themselves together so thoroughly that Quentin can't tell where one of them ends and the others begin. Their conversations have died down to the occasional murmur, the fire crackling louder than they're talking, and Quentin...

Quentin can't remember ever feeling more content in either life.


End file.
